Things To Do Today

Anonymous asked:

"How do you know that 'Sorrows of Satan' is a better book than 'Faust' if you don't even read books?"

1. Lovely, clever human people inventing cars, and motorways... and audiobooks. 

2. Actually met Marie Corelli because downstairs was very interested in her soul. Needless to say, she thwarted me pretty much the same way her character Mavis did with Lucio/Satan. Also, needless to say, Satan in the book took the rejection much better than sulky old me. Never met Goethe though, his soul was always too sure a thing.

3. An angel I used to know got the book recommended by some Irish bloke we both used to know - Oscar - I believe. Wrote books, too, and they threw him in prison for no other reason than having a boyfriend... People, *shakes head* I will never get the hang of you.

Anyhow, said angel was head over heels for the book and went on for hours how the heroine is a clever, free-spirited, and creative author while Goethe's Gretchen is the typical two-dimensional saint-harlot that male authors used to write back in the days.

4. 'm a Demon! *snorts* I might have lied.

Well, that would be Aziraphale's braincell, since he's the clever one. I'm just a walking desaster. 😈 🤷‍♂️

the Good Omens fandom shares one braincell and Neil's always using it

Hello! Big fan here.

Just a teeny little question.

Since you're somewhat a snake, do you enjoy things snakes enjoy as a humanoid? Heat lamps, nice rocks to scratch itches on, etc.?

Love your work, especially the M25. Wahoo!

🖤❤️🧡

Well, hello there, big fan.

No, I really prefer the cold.... naaaah! I enjoy warmth both as a snake and as a humanoid. Would use a heat lamp if there was no sun around. And no more angel to put a blanket over me when I'm cold.

As for rocks, no, I can scratch my own itches while in human form. I have hands for that.

And, no, I absolutely do not eat mice. Not even as a snake.

I'm no longer in the business of hellish road construction, so if you happen to have any trouble with bad traffic or crazy madmen drivers, it's not on me. Anyhow, wahoo to you, too!

Ngk. You've been a very very bad phone. I consider myself disappointed.

Be grateful that you are not a plant.

Phone, delete contact "Aziraphale"!

Guess, whom I got to meet today! 😍

(Going into hard fanboy mode...)

(Picture of Proof will follow... )

"How many decent writers do you lot even have up there? Because Neil Gaiman's one of ours. 😎

Terry Pratchett? One of ours. Oscar Wilde? Definitly ours. Shakespeare, Goethe, Hesse, Virginia Woolf and Mary Shelly? So very definitely ours. 😈

Have yourselves a merry little eternity with C.S. Lewis and Stephenie Meyer! 😇"

You’ll pay for this, Neil. Writers’ Hell awaits

"Back in 1941 when we were in the bookshop, there was this song playing on the radio that Aziraphale liked so much. Something about angels dining at the Ritz and a nightingale.

He still refused to dance with me, though, because well, angels don't dance.

A few days later, though, when I drove by the bookshop, I saw him dancing in there all alone by himself. His eyes were closed and he had this dreamy far-off expression on his face that he sometimes gets when he reads one of his favourite books or smells some very delicious food. I've also seen this expression when he listens to his favourite composers, but never before with a modern song.

So, angels do dance, they just do it when no one's looking. I suppose, the cat's not dead as long as no one opens the box.

The very same song was playing on the radio again. Of course, I couldn't hear it through the windows of the bookshop, but I had the radio turned on in the car.

Some time after the war, when the song stopped being famous and wasn't played on the radio anymore, I sent Aziraphale a record of it. He never mentioned it, but he must have known it was from me because he said something about dining at the Ritz in a conversation we had a few years later.

Actually, the song isn't even about angels dining at the Ritz, that's just a figure of speech. It's about two lovers who spend one magical night with each other, but for some reason, they can't stay together and have to say goodbye in the morning.

I have the head canon that at some point, I like to think 1941, Crowley tried to slow dance with Aziraphale. He just got caught up in the moment and the music, extended their hand and said something like ‘may I have this dance’ or something like that. In response Aziraphale, even though he wanted to with every fibre of his celestial being, only sat up straight,cleared his throat and said ‘ Crowley, you know quite well that angels don’t dance’ and Crowley sat down again.

That’s why Crowley says‘you don’t dance’ at the ball.

Good. So, there's at least one universe that has a happily-ever-after in store for us. Congrats to you, other me!

I will read your entries, while I drive around in my Bentley missing my angel who has gone up to Heaven and whom I probably will never see again.

Wait... reading and driving at the same time might not be the best of ideas...

I’d like to announce that after many, many years of courtship, I have participated in the very human (and quite romantic) act of marriage.

It was even better than Jane Austen presented.

All ways lead to you.

All ways, always.

Especially during those times when we couldn't be together, I knew deep inside that I would find my way back to you. Or you to me.

I could feel you, even when you were away. I might feel empty, lonely at times, but there was always this warm golden glow of your presence. Sometimes very close, sometimes further away, but it was always there.

One time I couldn't feel it, was during those decades down in Hell. But I had the memory of it and that was enough to keep me fighting. Keep me from giving up. I needed to survive to find you again. And I did.

One time I couldn't feel it, was when your bookshop burned down and you were discorporated. But then, it was you who found your way back to me.

And now you're gone. That beautiful golden glow has vanished. Where there used to be light, only darkness remains. Where there used to be bright colours, everything is damp and gloomy and hollow.

I lost my way because there's no you my way can lead to,

I can't come back because there's no you to come back to.

Earth is empty without your presence.

And so is my heart.

lost my way and i can't come back

I usually sleep through Easter. It's not as bad as Christmas, but still too many people rambling on about 'the-lord-our-saviour' before being cheerfully and positively nasty to each other.

I can only hope, no one puts any Easter cards with "Harry, the rabbit" under my Bentley's wipers.

~ * ~

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